


Sorry, I Have to Move to Alaska!

by polyamorous_polytheist



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Gay Zuko (Avatar), Happy Azula (Avatar), Japanese, Japanese Culture, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Jet (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Lesbian Azula (Avatar), Long-Haired Zuko (Avatar), M/M, Minor Aang/Katara, Multi, Native American Sokka, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), Protective Sokka (Avatar), Yup'ik Sokka, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyamorous_polytheist/pseuds/polyamorous_polytheist
Summary: Following a lengthy legal battle with Ozai, Iroh has full custody of his niece and nephew. Desperate to get Zuko and Azula away from Ozai (just in case) Iroh buys a tea shop in Anchorage, Alaska.Sokka has been living in Anchorage since birth and nothing interesting ever happens in this city. Except less than a month into this school year, the mysterious new kid with a facial scar beats up a well-known student in first period.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Bato & Sokka (Avatar), Bato & Zuko (Avatar), Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Bato/Hakoda/Kya (Avatar), Bato/Kya (Avatar), Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar), Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Hakoda/Kya (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 541





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings:  
> -Suicidal Thoughts/Suicidal Ideation  
> -Mentions of child abuse  
> -Hospitalization  
> -Mentions of sexual child abuse (Ozai took some pictures)  
> -Mormons  
> The title is from the song "Alaska" by Little Hurt
> 
> Just so everyone knows: I am not Japanese. I am not a practitioner (?) of Shinto. If you are Japanese/Shinto PLEASE point out anything I've gotten wrong. I want this fic to have an accurate representation of the religion and culture so I really mean it. I also don't live in Alaska, so if you do, the above message is for you as well! Even the smallest things deserve to be corrected. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated and listened to, so feel free to give it.

Zuko doesn’t remember a lot about the months after his thirteenth birthday. He remembers the rhythmic, mechanical beeping surrounding him. He remembers the agonizing pain. He remembers wishing that they would just let him die. He remembers the terror that invaded his mind like the plague when he realized he would never see from his left eye or hear from his left ear again. He remembers screaming his mother’s name and crying out for her at all hours of the night. Everything else from those long months in the hospital, he can’t remember. It feels like he has a block of TV static over those memories; fuzzy, loud, and drowning out everything else.

Zuko had dreaded being released from the hospital. Being released meant being returned to father. Being released meant that Zuko could – no _would_ end up back in this hospital almost immediately with even worse injuries. Maybe he’d even end up at the morgue. He’d sobbed into Uncle’s shoulder and begged him to hurt him just enough so he couldn’t leave the hospital. He could take it, he’d said. It will do more help than harm in the end. 

The next day had brought infinite relief. Uncle took him. He never had to see his father again. He thanked the kami for hours when he arrived at Uncle’s apartment. He had his own room! And there was a white lily on the nightstand! Uncle started going to court three weeks after Zuko moved in. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. If had just died in the hospital, Uncle would have gotten to live his life the way he wanted.

Eventually, Azula moved in too. At first, she was furious with Uncle. She wanted their father. To her, he was the hero in this story. He had manipulated her into believing this. She fought uncle tooth and nail. Until the courts found photos of her naked body on Ozai’s computer. It was the final nail in Ozai’s coffin. He’d laughed when they’d pulled up the picture, “She just looks so much like my dear wife. How was I to help myself?”

Azula decided Uncle was a better father than Ozai had ever been after that.

>>>

Today, when Uncle comes home from court, he is smiling. Never, in three years of trials, has Uncle smiled about the courts before. Zuko sends Azula a wary glance. She doesn’t understand his doubt; she’s only lived with them for a few months and doesn’t understand the ins and outs of living half at home and half in court.

“My brother is going to prison for a very long time.”

That is always what Uncle calls Ozai. It is always “my brother.” He never calls Ozai “your father.” It is easier for Zuko that way. If he can force Ozai into the box that is “Uncle’s brother,” he can almost forget that he is Ozai’s flesh and blood. Almost.

Azula laughs. Unlike the usual giggle she uses to manipulate people, this laughter is true and hysteric. She lowers her head and laughs until the cackles turn to sobs. For the first time since she’d moved in with them eight months ago, she gives Zuko a hug. He can’t tell which of them is more surprised. 

Uncle makes soba maki, Zuko and Azula’s favorite, that night. Zuko eats until he thinks he is going to be sick. Azula threatens to punch him in the stomach and “make him spew his dinner over the good carpet.” Uncle sends them to bed early. Zuko never realized how exhausting it could be to hear good news.

He goes through the familiar motions of tending to his plants once he has disappeared into his room. Check leaves. Check stems. Check the dirt. Pluck what needs plucking. Trim what needs trimming. Water what needs watering. It’s a private and detailed dance that he’s perfected over the last three years.

He doesn’t remember why Uncle had gotten him the white lily when he first returned from the hospital, but it doesn’t really matter. His plants make the room feel less lonely. He’s never had a pet before, but some people have never had a plant which is a far greater offense.

The next morning, Uncle announces that they are moving to the United States. At first, the siblings are sure they misheard him. They can’t leave Tokyo. What if mother is still in the city somewhere? Zuko throws up. Azula breaks an entire stack of plates and slams the apartment door on her way out. Uncle says nothing, just sweeps up the glass shards while humming an old song.

Azula doesn’t come home for three nights. Uncle insists that he isn’t worried, despite staying up much later than usual each night. When Azula finally comes home, her eyes are red, her hair is a mess, and there is a new set of plates tucked under her arm. Zuko gives her a hug, and doesn’t let go for a very long time.

The next few weeks are another blur in Zuko’s life. Days are filled with the bustle of packing up clothes and knickknacks. Azula goes out every night, trying to spend as much time with Mai and Ty Lee as possible before they leave. Zuko stays home and Uncle beats him in Pai Sho every night. Sometimes, after Azula comes home and Uncle is in bed, Zuko catches her standing on the balcony, staring out at the city skyline, and pretending not to cry. He decides to never tell her that he saw.

>>>

Their moving day starts bright and early. Everything except a few suitcases of clothes has already been shipped to the States. The apartment is entirely barren, and it reminds him of Father’s house: lived in, yet completely unaffected by the inhabitants. He’s never wanted to leave the apartment more. The three of them eat breakfast on the balcony. The reality of the situation finally seems to sink into Zuko’s mind.

Uncle sends Azula and Zuko to their nitōryū for one final class while he finishes getting everything ready. Their swords have already been shipped and Zuko struggles to adjust to the spare ones the school has. Logically, he knows he used to use them every day, but they seem so foreign now. They’re too long and too light. They’re no longer _his_ swords like they were when he was young. Everything from his youth will be foreign soon and that though makes him drop one of the swords. It scrapes his leg a bit on the way down. He tells Piando that the blade didn’t even touch him.

Piando approaches Zuko much later, “Best of luck in your future endeavors, Zuko. I am honored to have begun your swordsmanship journey.”

He bows to Zuko. When he bows back, Zuko is sloppy in his form because he is too busy blinking back tears. After he lost his sight, Piando dedicated entire evenings after the nitōryū closed to helping him regain his skill. They’d stayed in the nitōryū until one in the morning when Zuko was trying to re-learn his third sword kata. Piando gives him a hug at the door, and Zuko knows, somehow, that this is the last time he will hear Piando’s voice. He hugs back as though he’s dying and, surely, some parts of him are. Azula doesn’t even make fun of him for being emotional on the way back to the apartment.

For lunch, Uncle takes them to their favorite restaurant. Zuko isn’t hungry. The very thought of eating makes him want to wretch. He forces himself to eat two whole bowls of ramen because he knows he will never eat there again. In doing so, he accidentally ruins his final memory of the place and he regrets it for months.

At three ‘o’clock, Uncle turns in his apartment key to his landlord and they get on the subway to the airport. Uncle doesn’t tell them where they are moving to. He says he has to get them on the plane somehow. That sentiment isn’t exactly a reassurance. When they get to the gate, he hands them their tickets, and finally tells them where they’re going.

“I have an old friend in Anchorage. He spent a semester of college at my university. His Japanese was terrible, and my English wasn’t much better back then, but we have stayed in touch ever since. He has offered to pick us up at the airport. There are no subways in Anchorage. It is very different from Tokyo.” Zuko and Azula don’t say anything at all.

On the plane, Zuko lets Azula have the window seat. He doesn’t want to watch Japan disappear behind them. There is already a burning ache in his stomach, as though he’d swallowed coals. He doesn’t want it to get worse. Azula doesn’t take her eyes off the window until the only thing she can see is miles of blue ocean in every direction. She closes the window with such a sense of finality, that Zuko looks away. The window has closed on his past life. He can look back on it, but it is impossible to climb back through. He is sure Azula will return to Japan someday. Zuko will never see his homeland again.

Azula falls asleep half-way there. Zuko can’t sleep. He is afraid that if he sleeps, the journey will be over, and he will once again find himself in a new place with no memory of getting there. When he is sure Uncle has fallen asleep in the row behind him, he orders a coffee from the stewardess. She smiles at him and asks if he was sure he wanted it so late at night. Zuko considers begging, but, he’s worked too hard to regain his pride just to throw it out.

Nine hours later, the plane descends in Detroit, Michigan. It’s only three in the afternoon here. Zuko is exhausted. They buy sandwiches at a place called Chick-Fil-A. It’s not bad, but the only thing that would taste good to Zuko would be Uncle’s cooking. He gives his fries to Azula. She seems to love them, but then again, she’s always eaten better than Zuko.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep on the next plane. He wakes up to the stewardess’s voice over the intercom telling people to shut off their devices. Azula’s jacket is draped over him. It’s the kind of gesture that holds immense weight. Azula is showing him that they can be siblings again someday, far down the road of recovery. They don’t look at each other as Zuko hands it back.

The only thing that Zuko knows about Utah is that there are a lot of Mormons here. Over the next two hours, he learns just how true that is. It is almost interesting, seeing all of them in their modest uniforms at the airport. One of them tries to strike up a conversation but abandons it pretty quickly when Zuko pretends to speak only Japanese. Even if he’d been successful in pursuing Zuko as a conversation partner, he doubts that the man would have stuck around for very long. He doubts they’ve ever been told what Shinto is or how to convert a believer to Christianity.

“Are you afraid?” Azula asks once they are seated on the plane.

“Afraid of what?” Zuko asks. Eight months ago, Azula had asked this same question about their father’s trial. Zuko had told her he wasn’t afraid of anything. Things were different now.

She hesitates, “Of leaving Japan? Of Father getting out of prison? Of not fitting in?”

Zuko shrugs, “I guess so. I’m terrified of Father finding us, but in terms of fitting in, I’m already done for.”

Azula sighs, “I just don’t understand why we had to go. Japan is so much better than America ever could be.”

Zuko doesn’t meet her eyes, “I think leaving Japan is good. Not everything will remind us of Father.”

Azula shakes her head, “Everything will always remind us of Father.”

Zuko leans his seat back as far as it would go and tells her he was going to take a nap. He pretends to sleep and thinks about how his parents will always have a small bit of control over him even though they’re both as good as dead.

>>>

Uncle is smiling serenely when they get off the plane. He re-adjusts his backpack and makes for baggage claim, leaving Azula and Zuko to catch up. They spend a few minutes waiting for their luggage and then a few more waiting for Uncle’s friend.

Uncle’s friend, Pakku, apologizes profusely for being late and Uncle waves him off with an easy smile, “Do not fret, old friend. We are in no rush.”

“Speak for yourself,” Azula mutters, “I want a proper bed and a massage.”

She is lucky that Pakku is old and doesn’t hear her. He leads them out to a small car and pops the trunk. The three of them pile in their luggage before climbing in the car. Zuko can feel the back of the small car being weighed down and an entirely new fear makes itself known.

“Where to, Iroh?” He asks.

Iroh rattles off an address and the car splutters to life. It shudders a bit and Zuko is suddenly even more afraid they will break down.

“She doesn’t like the heat,” Pakku explains. Zuko hardly calls sixty degrees “heat.”

They end up a few blocks from the Anchorage Port at a little two-story building. It’s made of weathered brick and gives the impression of age that it may or may not have considering how quickly things can weather in Alaska’s harsh climate.

Uncle thanks Pakku for the ride and exits the car. Pakku smiles, “It’s not an issue, old friend. I’m thrilled to have you guys in Anchorage. We’ll have to get together for a game of Pai Sho.”

Iroh grins, “Perhaps in a few days when everything has settled down.”

Once they have their bags, Pakku says a lengthy and somewhat gossipy goodbye and drives off. Iroh reaches into his pocket and removes the key to the building. The building looks like a storefront with large glass windows and a little chime over the door. It rings half-heartedly as Iroh opens the door.

The things they had shipped over are stacked in neat little boxes in the empty room. Iroh smiles and walks over to the smallest box, which has been set on top of all the others. He carefully takes it down and opens it. Triumphantly, he holds open a small wooden whale made of driftwood.

“I know we are all tired and want to sleep in our new beds, but the house must be purified.”

Zuko can’t speak for Azula but he is not tired. It feels like a thousand hornets have made a home in his limbs and are buzzing maliciously. He doubts he will sleep tonight, especially since they’re in a new place.

Azula smiles tiredly, “Of course, Uncle.”

Zuko nods and bites his lip, “Right.”

Uncle smiles and pulls a large cloth from the small box. It’s simple but makes a satisfying flutter as Uncle lays it over the floor. He takes a few moments to locate the plates and sets one on the cloth. He gently sets the whale next to it.

“It is not very proper, but the kami will not mind,” he assures them.

Once they are all knelt before the shoddy excuse of a shrine, Uncle recites the Oharai no Kotoba; the prayer of great purification. He speaks quickly but with great intent. Zuko clears his mind and focuses on praying to Daikoku, a kami of the household.

Uncle rises and strolls around the room. Having finished the Oharai no Kotoba, he begins reciting various norito dedicated to Daikoku and a few others. Zuko listens as Uncle goes up the stairs. Everything is silent as Uncle repeats the process above them. When he returns from the upstairs, he settles back down in front of Zuko and Azula.

He turns his attention on the small whale, “Oh, Daikoku, imbue this ofuda with your power and let there be wealth and joy upon this household.”

For a few minutes, they kneel there in silence. Zuko is vaguely aware of the ache starting in his knees. He likes the ritual, though. It makes this strange new home feel somewhat familiar. Finally, Uncle stands. He pulls a small packet of airplane pretzels from his pocket.

“I apologize for the meagerness of this offering. In the following days, I will make it up to you.”

He pours the pretzels out and they make little clinks against the plate. Uncle bows until his forehead is pressed to the ground. Azula and Zuko follow his example. Zuko imagines all of his fears and hesitations pooling at his forehead and disappearing into the ground to be whisked away by rainwater, or, since this is Alaska, maybe by snow.

Uncle’s knees crack as he stands, “Go upstairs and find your rooms. In the morning we will set to unpacking.”

He gestures to the stairs. Azula stretches and yawns, “Who knew sitting on a plane for twenty-four hours could be so exhausting?”

She and Zuko quickly climb the stairs. They emerge in a large room, likely to be used as a dining room. There’s an open doorway on one side that leads to a snug looking kitchen and another doorway with a proper door on the other side. The door leads to a short hallway with four doors. Three bedrooms, one bathroom. Zuko takes the one farthest from the dining room.

There’s a small bed pushed against one wall that he falls into. He turns on his phone and scrolls through TikTok for a while. Once the house is completely silent, he gets out of bed. There’s no point in attempting to sleep when he knows it is useless. Plus, his plants have been out of their pots for the entirety of their shipping and need to be watered. He won’t become neglectful like Ozai just because taking care of his plants is an inconvenience sometimes.

The large box labeled PLANTS is not stacked like the rest of them. He carefully avoids the makeshift shrine and opens it up. He sends a quick prayer to Kuebiko for help reviving his plants. His box of pots is nearby, and he opens it up. He removes the first pot. All his pots are hand-painted. This one is white with small suns dotted on it at semi-regular intervals. The top rim is gently labeled 日の出, or Sunrise in yellow paint. Carefully, he locates his pink azalea and lifts her out of the box. Once the pot is halfway full, he lowers her roots into the dirt.

“Need any help?”

Zuko jolts and looks over his shoulder. Azula is standing by the stairs. Her usually perfect hair is tied messily atop her head and she’s wearing one of Mother’s old hoodies. She nearly made him mess up Sunrise’s potting. He looks away, “If you want.”

She sits down beside him, “Sunrise is a fitting name for it.”

“Thank you.”

She removes another pot from the box. This one is painted pure black.

“Asphodel.”

“My first. Uncle got him for me when I came home from the hospital. It’s why he has such a miserable name, but I can’t bring myself to change it.”

Azula laughs, “It makes perfect sense that you would name your plants.”

She fills the pot with dirt. She’s not necessarily good at it and Zuko gives her some instructions. She pretends her imperfection at something she’s never done before doesn’t bother her.

They work in-between whispered conversations that neither of them will remember come morning. Azula asks Zuko about every single one of his plans and listens carefully to Zuko talk about how they got their names, why he likes their colors, and how he takes care of each one. Azula will never admit that she’s enjoying herself.

“How many do you have?”

“Eighteen. I buy one whenever I have enough spare cash.”

“And they’re all named?”

Zuko nods, “Yeah.”

It takes them hours to plant all of them. Azula loves their names. Her favorites are ごみ圧縮機 or Trash Compactor, for the Venus fly trap, and 日焼け, or Sunburn, for the aloe. When they finish potting and watering, Azula insists that they place them in the storefront window.

“They should be able to catch Amaterasu’s first light,” She says. Nine plants are placed in each window. Zuko chuckles at the image of people walking down the sidewalk and wondering at the window-jungle that had mystically appeared in the late hours of the evening.

The siblings go up to bed and for the first time in many years, they feel like proper siblings. Uncle Iroh intends to wake his niece and nephew early, but when he comes down the stairs and sees the empty boxes and plants, he lets them sleep.

Zuko stumbles downstairs at noon and finds Uncle and Azula engrossed in a game of Pai Sho. Boxes are unstacked and settled around the room. The makeshift shrine is gone, but Uncle has set up their proper one.

The shrine has always been one of Zuko’s favorite parts of the house. He feels safe near it. Father had never been religious like uncle. He called religion "a waste of time, energy and money." Nothing had ever felt as important to Zuko as Shinto after he'd moved in with Uncle. He'd converted to it almost immediately, so now heir shrine is safe and Zuko goes to it whenever he is afraid. In Japan, it was dedicated to three kami: Daikoku, Kuebiko, and Amaterasu.

Zuko pads over to it and bows twice, claps twice, and bows once more. Once he rises, he notices that there is now a fourth offering plate. Zuko recognizes the new statuette immediately. Ryūjin, the dragon lord of the sea.

“Uncle, why is Ryūjin on our shrine today? Is there a festival I’ve forgotten?”

Azula cheers loudly, “Take that old man!”

Uncle groans and gets up off the floor, “We practically live on his doorstep now, it would be very rude not to honor him.”

Zuko has always liked Ryūjin’s myths. He particularly likes the story of Empress Jingu. Azula quits her celebratory dance and walks over to Zuko, “Now that you’re awake, there is work to do!”

“Before we start with the unpacking, I have heard that there is an excellent Mexican restaurant nearby that we should check out,” Uncle suggests.

On cue, Zuko’s stomach grumbles, “How will we get there?”

Azula smirks, “While we were asleep, Uncle bought a car.”

“You bought a car?” Zuko asks.

Uncle nods, “A clause in my father’s will caused his inheritance to be transferred to me once Ozai was imprisoned. It was a rather large sum of money. More than enough to buy our new home and a car.”

Iroh’s car is bright yellow. Zuko hates it immediately and does not want to be seen in it. His rumbling stomach forces him to get in anyway. An hour later, Zuko is eating the best Mexican food he’s ever had; not that he has much to compare it too.

When they arrive back at the house, Iroh tells them his master plan:

“We’re turning this place into a tea shop.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings  
> \- Mentions of child abuse

A few days later, when everything is finally in its place and Uncle has started ordering the necessary furniture and appliances to open the shop, Azula finds a stray cat. She and Zuko are walking home from one of the local Asian markets. The nearest one is an hour’s walk away but both Zuko and Azula enjoy the walk. It’s a nice way to get to know the city. Plus, both of their therapists encourage physical activity.

Both of them are laden with bags filled with various goods and Zuko’s arms are aching in an almost familiar way. Azula stops abruptly in front of him and one of Zuko’s bags swings forward and hits her in the back. She doesn’t seem to care. The Azula that had moved in with Uncle eight months ago would have cared. It’s a tiny victory for her, but a victory nonetheless.

“Did you hear that?”

“Uh, no?”

Azula waits for a moment. This time, Zuko hears it too. A soft, desperate mew comes from the alley.

“Just a cat,” She says and continues walking. The noise comes again and this time it sounds almost desperate. Carefully, Zuko sets down his bags and heads down the alley. Azula must still have a lot of healing to do if she’s feeling heartless enough to abandon the poor thing.

“Zuzu, what are you doing?” Azula calls.

“It sounds hurt!” Zuko yells back.

“It sounds like it has rabies.”

“You can’t tell an animal has rabies from the way it sounds.”

Abruptly, Azula is beside him in the alley. Just like when they were kids playing in the park, she’s silent on her feet.

“If our food gets stolen, it is your fault.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, “Who’s going to steal a bunch of bags of rice?”

“I would.”

“You’re evil so you don’t count.”

“I’m hurt Zuzu.”

“You don’t sound hurt.”

The pitiful noise interrupts their playful bickering. A pot runs out from behind a trash can and slams against the opposite wall of the alley, sending a muted metallic sound bouncing between the brick walls.

Azula laughs, “It appears, we have found our cat.”

Zuko grabs the sides of the pot and the cat yowls beneath it, “Ready?”

“Sure.”

Zuko raises the pot in one fluid motion. The cat, and its really more of a kitten, sits still for a moment, stunned by the sudden sunlight. Zuko uses that moment to grab it by the scruff and lift it up.

“I think it’s an Abyssinian.”

“I think it has fleas. Put it down and let’s go. We’ve done our good deed of the day.”

Zuko looks at the small brown kitten, “I bet Uncle would let us keep her.”

“How do you know it’s a her? And he totally would. Uncle’s a softy.”

“Do you see any gargantuan cat balls on it? It’s a her.”

“Why the hell would I be looking for cat balls?”

Zuko shrugs, “They’re kind of hard to miss on cats.”

“Ew. You’re seriously going to get fleas.”

The kitten bats at Zuko.

“I’m going to name her Turtle.”

“You can’t name it, it’s not ours!”

“Yet. Uncle won’t be able to turn her away.”

“You’re still carrying your share of the bags.”

“Whatever.”

Zuko cradles Turtle like a baby and she bats at a strand of his hair. Zuko is in love instantly. Azula is already a block ahead of him when he gets out of the alley. She’s full of her usual indifference. He pretends not to notice that two of the bags he was carrying are gone.

When they arrive back at the house, Iroh is pushing a table into place near the windows. All the tables in the shop are different which drives Azula crazy. Iroh says that they give the shop character. Azula says that character is an ADHD five-year-old. Zuko thinks it makes the place look home-owned and not sterile and manned by unpaid child-laborers.

“Uncle! Zuko kidnapped a cat.”

A flash of excitement courses through Iroh whenever Azula calls him Uncle. It’s a somewhat recent development. He’d just been Iroh until about a week before their move.

“Did he?”

“Her name is Turtle because we found her trapped under a pot.” Zuko supplies.

“I’m gonna call her Pot-Head,” Azula says, “because she had to have been high to get herself trapped like that. Plus, she literally had a pot on her head."

Zuko lowers his arms so his bags are on the counter that will eventually hold the register. Turtle squirms and claws at him as he attempts to keep ahold of both her and the groceries. Azula grabs her and Zuko sighs in relief and rubs at his sore arms.

“Can we keep her?” He asks.

She doesn’t want to admit it, but Azula wants the kitten to stay more than she’s ever wanted anything. Even with a light coating of alleyway dirt, she’s the softest thing Azula’s ever touched.

Uncle puts a hand on his chin and closes his eyes. His niece and nephew have been through so much in these past few years. They’re an ocean away from anyone they’ve ever known, and both their parents are as good as dead. If they want a kitten, Iroh thinks they deserve a kitten. Plus, the kitten is a rescue. Maybe she can even keep mice out of the shop.

“She can stay. Tomorrow, we will go to PetZoo and get her what she needs. For now, let her wander around and help put away groceries.”

Iroh knows he made the right choice when both Zuko and Azula attempt to hide the fact that they’re grinning ear-to-ear. Azula sets Turtle on the ground and grabs the bags again.

Zuko groans, “My poor arms.”

Iroh takes some too and the three of them hurry upstairs to their new kitchen to put everything away. That night, there is a Mario Kart tournament in the living room. Azula always wins.

>>>

Two and a half weeks later, The Jasmine Dragon opens for business. It is, predictably, slow. A few lost looking tourists come in and so do a fair amount of port workers. The shop closes for lunch at 2:30 and, after a quick meal of instant ramen, Uncle unlocks the doors again. This turns out to be relatively useless as maybe five more customers come in the rest of the day.

The next day, Uncle puts an ad in some local papers and a HELP WANTED sign in one of the windows. The day after the ad goes out is much busier, and Zuko almost misses the downtime between customers. Being a waiter involves far too much standing and human interaction. He should have demanded that Azula do it so he could work in the back. Uncle interviews a college student named Haru and an older Korean man called Jeong Jeong. The day after, the HELP WANTED sign is gone.

>>>

The first two weeks of August blur together in a jumbled mess of half-busy workdays and suddenly the warm summer days are over. Uncle wakes Zuko up at six in the morning.

“School starts in an hour, nephew.”

Zuko wants to cry. He has never attended public school. Ozai always paid top dollar for the best private schools in Japan. Even during the trials, he attended an all-male private school that Iroh had a few friends at. Public school – especially now that he has the scar- seems like a dragon he cannot slay.

He stumbles through his morning routine and barely touches his miso soup. Uncle does a poor job of pretending he isn’t concerned. Azula is secretly in the same state of mind. She holds her head high and makes sure her eyeliner is sharp enough to cut skin, but her stomach aches a bit, and she wishes she was greeting Ty Lee and Mai in the hallways of her old school.

Iroh packs his niece and nephew into the lemon-colored Ford Fusion at exactly seven ‘o’clock and pulls into West Anchorage High School precisely eleven minutes later.

“You will have an excellent day. You are both brave and intelligent. I cannot wait to hear all about your day. Try to be positive.”

Zuko opens the door and stands on unstable legs. Maybe if he collapses, Uncle will take him home. Azula follows him closely as they walk into the building. It takes the pair maybe five minutes to find the main office. An older dark-skinned man sits behind a desk, typing quickly. Azula clears her throat.

The man looks up, “Ah! You must be the Calderas. Iroh mentioned you’d be stopping in. Let me get you your schedules.”

He hits a button on his computer and a printer whirrs to life, “Taking a lot of English, aren’tcha Zuko?”

“Uh, yeah. I went to a science-oriented school before this. I’m mostly done with math and science credits, but the arts and language are lacking.”

The man nods, “Azula, looks like you have a pretty normal schedule for a freshman.”

He passes them each a slip of paper. Zuko takes a deep breath, “Thank you Mr.…”

“Just Bumi is fine. That’s what all you kids call me. Sometimes accompanied by the words ‘crazy’ and ‘old.’”

Azula snickers and Zuko elbows her in the ribs, “Thank you, Bumi. We’ll just be on our way…”

“Ah ah ah. One moment.”

He opens up a drawer and pulls out some stickers, “Welcome, newest Eagles!”

Azula drops her eagle sticker in the trash on the way out. Zuko is almost reluctant to say goodbye to his sister outside the office. Azula may be young and annoying but she’s familiar territory. She doesn’t stare for too long at his face. Inevitably, she disappears around the corner. He looks over his schedule and notes the locker number at the top of it: 388. At least that’s somewhere to start. He wonders if American school is really like it is in the movies. He can’t decide if he wants it to be.

He follows the signs on the wall to his locker and opens it up. He pulls his notebooks from his bag and quickly organizes his locker. He knows it won’t stay that way, no matter how hard he tries. He grabs his cloth bag of pens and pencils, a notebook, and his school-issued computer and takes off for his first class. He hesitates by the door to one of the English classrooms for a bit too long. He gnaws nervously on his lip.

“Are you going to open the door?”

Zuko jolts and steps to the side, keeping his head down and away from the stranger. Maybe he can do this all year, and no one will ever find out about his scar. He realizes that’s stupid and looks up, looking at something over the other student’s shoulder.

“Sorry. Just trying to figure out if I have the right room.”

The kid, a boy around his age holding a pen in his teeth, slides past him and opens the door. He doesn’t bother to hold it for Zuko. The metal of the doorknob seems to burn against his palm as Zuko grabs it. Unwilling to deal with another encounter like the previous one, he opens the door.

The classroom is relatively quiet. Only a few students are taking first period poetry and, from the look of it, a lot of them are there for an easy A in a literature class. No one ever appreciates poetry enough. Zuko slumps into a chair towards the back of the class and lays his head on his arms.

Distantly, a bell rings. The intercom chimes and Bumi’s voice echoes over the classroom:

“Good morning West Anchorage High! How are all my little Eagles feeling today? I know you’re all _thrilled_ to be back. Let’s start this day off right with a little wisdom: Let your smile change the world. Don’t let the world change your smile. Now for the Pledge.”

Zuko doesn’t stand up and he knows it will cause problems for him eventually, but right now he doesn’t care, and he needs time to process how insanely stupid that “inspirational” quote was. The world didn’t care how many people smiled. It would still be cruel and unfair.

“Alright, welcome to Poetry One. I’m Ms. Simmons and I’m so excited to have you all this semester. Now, I’m a pretty new teacher and don’t know all of you. Today, we’re going to write our first poems as an icebreaker. The title will be your name. It can be any style at all and don’t worry about it being perfect. Just tell me about yourself via poem. And don’t fret, no one else will see your poems. Get started!” The perky blonde teacher at the front of the room says.

Zuko flips open his notebook and stares at the white paper for a moment before printing his name at the top of the page. It’s been a while since he wrote in English and he’s really not looking forward to doing it all year.

He could write a haiku. They’re Japanese, just like him, though he doubts the teacher will understand that’s why he chose to write one. People don’t always pick up on the subtle meanings of things, though he supposes a poetry teacher probably can. He hesitates and then write:

_Zuko_

_I have an uncle_

_And a father who hates me_

_And burned my face_

He scribbles it out immediately. He doesn’t stop moving his pencil until the poem beneath the lead is ineligible. Maybe a haiku isn’t the best idea. Zuko feels too complex to sum up in seventeen syllables. Or maybe he feels like seventeen syllables are too many. He tries again.

_Zuko_

_I have eighteen plants_

_and a cat named turtle_

_I have an uncle who plays too much pai sho_

_I would say I have a sister, but I think she has me instead_

_we live in a tea shop_

_this poem is a tree_

He puts down his pencil. The poem is sloppy and has no rhythm. He doesn’t like it very much, but it looks nice and probably isn’t graded. The teacher speaks again, “Now that you’ve written a poem about yourself, write a poem about someone you care about. Again, no one will see these poems.”

Zuko picks his pencil back up.

_Azula_

_I have had a sister for eleven years and ten months_

_she’s fourteen years old_

_and recovering from forty years of abuse_

_I wish I had been there to protect her_

_from everything he did to her_

The poem is probably too personal for some random teacher. Zuko doesn’t really care. It feels nice to have how he feels about Azula out on paper. For a few minutes, everything is silent. Then the teacher opens her mouth again. Zuko is regretting taking poetry.

“Write a poem about an experience that changed you.”

Zuko already knew what he is going to write about. He is a proud plant-dad and Asphodel is his first son, after all.

_First Born_

_I spent seven months in a hospital bed_

_I don’t remember any of them_

_I remember the day Uncle brought me home_

_there was a white lily on the nightstand_

_I named him asphodel_

_now he grows in the window of_

_The Jasmine Dragon_

Zuko is relieved when the bell rings. He shoves the paper with his poems into the teacher’s hands and hurries to his locker. He leans against it and pulls out his schedule. He hopes Ms. Simmons doesn’t tell the school counselor. He probably should have considered that happening. Weight training is his next class. Great. Why did he take that? Being in a crowded gym full of jocks sounded like his own personal hell. Azula had to have messed with his schedule or something.

The gym is in a separate building and, just as Zuko expected, is full of jocks. Probably American football players. Zuko feels like he willingly signed up for a daily hate crime. The coach seems surprised to see someone other than the football team in his class. Zuko keeps his head down. Some random kid in the hallway seeing his scar was a lot different from the entire football team seeing it.

The coach says a few words about safety and whatever else that Zuko doesn’t really pay attention to. It’s only second period and Zuko already wants to go home.

“New kid!”

Zuko jolts and glances up at the coach. The man catches sight of his scar and raises one eyebrow.

“I said get started.”

Zuko blushes, “Right. Sorry.”

Along one wall, there’s a collection of weighted bags. Zuko grabs a few and secures them over his legs. They feel familiar. Piando used to make them run katas in them back in Japan. A few of the other guys send Zuko weird looks. He tries not to care as he takes his first kata stance.

The rest of Zuko’s day passes in a haze of wanting to be anywhere else and sharp unease. Zuko thinks he has the tile patterns of the school memorized from how much he’s looked at the ground today. Uncle is, predictably, late to pick him and Azula up so they sit on a bench near the front doors and pretend they have something to talk about.

When Uncle’s stupid yellow car finally pulls up, Zuko and Azula are the only two left outside. Everyone else is either practicing some sport or long gone. Zuko calls shotgun and Azula flips him off. Uncle doesn’t ask about their day. He knows that they’ll tell him eventually.

He and Azula take over for Jeong Jeong and Haru when they get back to the shop and Zuko spends the next two hours waiting tables. It’s not fun- it never is, but it’s a distraction that Zuko desperately needs.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings:  
> -Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation  
> -Panic/Anxiety Attack  
> -Mentions of stalking  
> -Swearing  
> -Mentions of child abuse  
> -Fight scene (no gore; just descriptions of the activity)  
> -Mentions of blood  
> -Slurs against Asian people of color  
> -Slurs against the LGBTQ+ community  
> -Mentions of rape (no descriptions; just the statement that someone wanted to commit it)

It takes Zuko less than a month to pick a fight he can’t finish. It starts in first period poetry because of course it does. It’s before class and Zuko is doing his best to just ignore everything and everyone. On Kuebiko, he should not have come to school today. Then Jet opens his goddamn mouth and Zuko can’t help himself from ruining his fresh start.

“And that fucking _faggot!”_

Zuko is very abruptly paying attention to the conversation.

“So, I’m going to ask her out, right? And I’m laying it on _thick_ because she’s a hot little Asian and she looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Shut the fuck up. I like girls so get lost.” Like, what the hell? So naturally, I followed her home and, get this- “

“Jet, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’m going to rock your shit,” Zuko says before he can stop himself.

Jet turns around in his desk, “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“Unless you’re older than my goddamn grandpa, you heard me.”

“Look, you’re new here, so I’ll cut you some slack. I run this school, pussyboy. So, I’ll give you ten seconds to apologize and hand me a twenty. We can pretend this never even happened.”

Zuko reaches into his bag and pulls out a bill. He stalks down the aisle to Jet’s seat. Jet grins and pulls that stupid red pen out of his mouth.

“Much better. We can forget this ever happened.”

Zuko takes a deep breath and punches Jet in the jaw. His head snaps to the side and _fuck_ Zuko wishes he’d somehow managed to bandage his hand before that. For a second, everything is silent, like no one can believe that actually happened. Jet starts to move. The kids around them scatter. Zuko sends a quick prayer out, hoping some kami is merciful enough to answer.

“You mother _fucker_!”

Jet scrambles to get out of his seat. Zuko, seeing his few seconds to get the upper hand, sprints to the front of the classroom. Now he knows how those gazelles on nature programs feel Jet tackles him from behind halfway there and Zuko’s head connects with the leg of a desk. It appears the cheetah has caught him. He should’ve run in zig-zags.

Zuko twists around slams his elbow into the side of Jet’s head. Repeatedly. Jet, unfortunately, is both taller and heavier than Zuko and manages to pin his arm. His knee is as sharp as one of Zuko’s swords (which Zuko _really_ wishes he had) when it digs into his neck.

“You disgusting little chink! I’m going to kill you. I’m going to fucking kill you! I could do it right here, right now. You have twenty seconds to convince me not to. Make it worth my fucking time.”  
Zuko doesn’t know if Jet is lying and he doesn’t care. He looked directly into Death’s hollow eyes for months after he got the scar. He knows what it looks like, and he isn’t afraid. Jet hasn’t yet realized that. Zuko goes still. His complete lack of self-preservation could be his only advantage at this point.

Jet laughs. His hands shift a bit. He’s off guard. There’s a pencil a few inches from the hand that Jet doesn’t have pinned. Zuko shifts minutely, hand clenching firmly around the thin wood. The pressure is back on, but he has the pencil. A few second’s later, Jet leans up so he’s kneeling with Zuko between his knees. It’s a humiliating position and Jet knows it. He wants everyone to see that Zuko goes down easily. Unfortunately for Jet, that’s not true. Zuko didn’t survive thirteen years of abusive parenting to let some American asshole get the better of him

Fast as lightning, Zuko rolls over and slams the half-sharpened pencil into Jet’s cheek. The momentum keeps them both going. The pencil snaps skin. Zuko is on top of Jet. Jet is screaming. Other people are screaming. Rough hands pull Zuko off of Jet. There’s blood on Zuko’s hands. And face. And on Jet. The adrenaline is dropping fast. Jet has a cheek piercing. Zuko is about to have a criminal record. He doesn’t care.

Teachers surround Jet. The hands on Zuko’s shoulder - Hakoda Chimeralrea’s hands- hold Zuko steady. Zuko trembles. He raises his hand and wipes the blood away from his nose. It needs to be re-set. Zuko isn’t concerned about it. Ozai had broken his nose years ago; it was already messed up. Uncle is going to be furious.

>>>

When Uncle arrives to the school ten minutes later, he isn’t angry. He’s sad, and that’s so much worse. Zuko is used to disappointing Ozai. He is a disappointment to Ozai. He’s not used to Uncle’s disapproval. He’s not sure what to do with it.

Zuko has been confined to a cramped desk in Mr. Chimeralrea’s room. He just keeps staring at the ticking clock and considering suicide. Each tick is driving him closer to the edge. What, he wonders, would happen if he snapped?

“Zuko Sozin Caldera. What did you do?”

“Oh! Mr. Caldera, did no one tell you what happened?” Mr. Chimeralrea asks.

“Oh, I know what happened. I’m just seeing if Zuko knows,” Iroh snaps.

Zuko pries his eyes away from the clock and looks in Uncle and Mr. Chimeralrea’s general direction, “He was talking about harassing this girl.”

“Speak up,” Iroh orders.

Zuko clears his throat, “He was talking about a gay girl who rejected him, so he followed her home. I think he’s planning on hurting her. I told him I was gonna rock his shit if he didn’t shut up. He didn’t shut up. I rocked his shit.”

“Language!” Mr. Chimeralrea admonishes.

“You wanted the story. _That’s_ the story, swears and all. What’re my charges?”

“Consider yourself _fucking lucky._ Jet has decided not to press charges,” Iroh says. He is a little bit angry. Zuko gulps but can’t help the relief that floods through him. He’s not going to get arrested. Everything is suddenly a bit less consequential.

“Of course, you’re getting suspended for five days. We’ve heard Jet’s story too and he’s in hot water too,” Mr. Chimeralrea says.

Iroh sighs deeply. Zuko slumps in his seat. Mr. Chimeralrea hands Zuko a binder of classwork to have done by the time he comes back. Zuko manages not to cry until he’s in Uncle’s passenger seat, but then he can’t stop. Iroh doesn’t even start the car when he gets in. Zuko starts talking immediately.

“I messed up so badly. I could have ruined everything. I could’ve gotten expelled. I could’ve wrecked the shop’s reputation. I could have gone to _jail_.”

Uncle _laughs_. Zuko doesn’t understand what’s funny. He just beat a kid to the point of hospitalization and Uncle thinks it’s _funny_.

“Zuko. None of those things happened. If they had happened, we would have survived. We survived three years of legal battles with your father. A week-long trial about you going to juvie for hitting a sexual predator would be nothing after that.”

Zuko sobs and grabs his hair, “Why can’t I ever do anything right? I would have tried to kill me too if I were Father.”

Zuko yanks hard on his hair, attempting to ground himself. If he can just _breathe_. Oh, who is he kidding? He should just stop doing that to. Dying would feel so _good._ He wouldn’t fuck up anymore and Uncle and Azula would be free and-

Uncle yanks Zuko’s hands off his head. A few strands of black hair go with and Zuko relishes in the slight pain.

“Prince Zuko, I need you to listen to me. Everything is okay. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I don’t hate you.”

He repeats himself for almost fifteen minutes before Zuko calms down. They don’t say anything until they’re back at the shop.

“You haven’t called me Prince in years.”

“You looked like you needed it.”

“I’m assuming you want my phone and my Switch and whatever else?”

Uncle shakes his head, “You already feel awful and the school is punishing you. You’re old enough to know what you did was wrong. You don’t need to suffer more. Although – between you and me- you did the right thing. Men who harass women deserve whatever comes to them. Let’s get some ice on those knuckles.”

Zuko is very glad he doesn’t live with Father. Back then, this sort of behavior would have killed him.

>>>

Nearly eleven hours later, Azula sneaks down the hallway to her brother’s room and slips inside. He’s still awake – she knew he would be. Her brother is many things, and a night owl is one of them. She purposely lets the door creak when she closes it, and he looks up at her. His eyes have a sort of haunted look behind them made of guilt and self-hatred. It’s a look she’s seen in the mirror plenty of times. She slides down the door and clutches the pillow she brought with her to her chest.

“You’re the talk of the school.”

“Am I?”

“You knew you would be.”

He scoffs, “Yeah. I didn’t really think about it at the time.”

“My therapist says that fights aren’t a good way to release negative feelings.”

Zuko smiles, but Azula is looking at her pillow. He knows that she’s trying to make him feel better about his fight in her own way. Neither of them has ever been good at facing their own emotions let alone someone else’s.

“I may have heard that a few times, actually. I was getting in fights left and right once I was out of the hospital.”

Azula takes a deep breath, “I didn’t, um, I didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“What Father did to you. That you were in the hospital. Any of it. I didn’t know any of it.”

“You didn’t?”

“After he…. he did it, he told me that Mother came back.”

Her voice quavers and she picks at the corner of the pillow. There’s something satisfying in the way the seam begins to come undone. She is in control; even if it’s only of her pillow and hands. It takes her a moment to regain her composure.

“Did she come back?” Zuko asks. He sounds almost hopeful, but he’s afraid of the answer he’ll get.

She shakes her head, “No. She didn’t. Father said that she did and that, and that, and that…”

Azula is crying now and she feels so weak and gross and _feminine_. It aches. Zuko pushes off his blanket and pads barefoot over to the door. He sits beside her, careful not to touch her. She scoots over so their arms are pressing together. The light touch seems to settle her a bit.

“He said that she came home, but only for you. He said that I wasn’t good enough for her, so she left me, and took you to her new home in Australia, of all places. I had no idea that you were still in Japan. Still in Tokyo even.”

She slams her head back against the door. Zuko has never seen his sister cry up close before. Not even when they were younger. It’s a scary thing. She’s so _quiet_ about it. The tears are fast, and she rubs her face after almost everyone, so her cheeks are red. It’s nothing like the chocked screams that come from Zuko when he cries.

“I hated you, Zuzu. So bad. I blamed you for leaving me. For stealing Mother from me. For being the perfect child. The one Father was never around long enough to hit. Seeing you, in Uncle’s house that first night was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. The second I saw you; I knew he had done it to you. And then I was just mad at me. So, _so_ mad. I failed you. I didn’t save you and after he’d fucking _maimed_ you, I took _his_ side. I believed him until he confessed to wanting to _rape_ me. I’m such a fucking mess.”

“Zula, you can’t blame yourself for happened. You were eleven back then. He would have hurt you too if you had tried to help. I’m glad you didn’t have to see it. I would never want you to see it.”

“I know, but I hated you for something you didn’t even do. He…he made me hate my own brother. I don’t hate you, Zuzu! I don’t! I don’t I swe _ar_!”

She hiccups and begins softly hitting her head against the door. Zuko doesn’t have time to think about how his actions might be perceived. He hugs her, and even with the pillow between them, he can feel her shaking. It takes her a moment, but she hugs back. Neither of them knows how long they stay like that. They just know that Azula has stopped crying and Zuko’s knees hurt worse than they did during the home purification ritual.

When they finally separate and are once more sitting side by side, Azula fishes her Switch out of her pillowcase. Zuko is astounded that he didn’t feel it while hugging her. She grins at him.

“Wanna kick my ass at a Pokémon battle?”

Zuko laughs, “Only if you beat me at Mario Kart afterwards.”

They don’t say anything of meaning until well after two in the morning. Azula is leaning against Zuko in his bed and is very nearly asleep. His arm is thrown casually over her shoulder and he hates that they still feel more like tentative friends than siblings.

“Zuzu,” she mutters, her voice slurred from sleepiness.

He sets their Switches on the nightstand, “Yeah?”

“You’re gay right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am too.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I’m going back to my room. Have fun working day-shifts at the shop for the next week.”

She forgets her pillow and Zuko tosses it off his bed because sleeping with it would just be weird.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings  
> \- Mentions of Child Abuse  
> -Swearing   
> -Fighting (same thing as before; no gore just descriptions of events)  
> -Mentions of Rape (again, same thing as before; no descriptions just the statement that someone wants to do it.)  
> -Strangulation  
> -Attempted murder  
> -Drowning

Before the first Tuesday of September, Sokka hadn’t cared much about the new kid. He’d known there _was_ a new kid; plenty of rumors about his facial scar were circulating. He just simply didn’t care that much. By third period that day, _everyone_ cared about the new kid.

By the end of the day, Sokka had heard like, seventy different versions of what had happened during first period poetry. Jet was dead. Jet had brain damage. The new kid was involved in Jet’s gang and it was a bid for power. The new kid was involved in a rival gang and was asserting dominance. The two had been dating and there was a messy breakup. His dad was the one who set him straight on the car ride home from school.

“No one is dead, Sokka. Jet’s been released from the hospital and I think the worst the new kid got was a broken nose.”

"Wait, Jet was _hospitalized_?!”

“…I should not be discussing the school’s private matters with you.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t stop now!”

“Yeah, Dad. For once, I agree with Master Swish,” His younger sister, Katara pipes up in the back seat.”

Sokka squirms around in his seatbelt to face Katara, “What the hell does ‘Mister Swish’ mean?”

Katara sticks out her tongue, “Figure it out.”

“Watch your language, Sokka,” Hakoda says, “and face the front.”

“Oh please. Don’t act like Katara hasn’t heard the word hell before. Bato says it all the time!”

“Bato is an _adult_.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Anyway, what _really_ happened then?”

“If either of you spread this at school, you’re grounded.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know the drill on secret school knowledge by now.”

Hakoda flicks Sokka’s ear and Katara laughs.

“Well, during my free period, Ms. Simmons ran into my room screaming about two boys trying to kill each other. I got down there just in time to watch the new kid stab a pencil through Jet’s cheeks and- “  
“Wait like _through_? All the way? Like there’s a pencil-sized hole in Jet’s cheek?”

“Are you even listening Sokka? He said _through,_ didn’t he? Now shut up! I wanna hear,” Katara says.

“You aren’t even in Jet’s grade, why do you care?”

“Because Jet’s a shithead.”

“Fair.”

“Katara! I expect this from Sokka, not you!”

“Is it because I’m a girl? Because I’m a girl, I can’t fucking swear?” 

“Katara Chimeralrea! It’s because _neither_ of you should be swearing, but you’re usually better behaved.”

“Heh, yeah,” Katara agrees.

“Hey! I’m well behaved,” Sokka snaps.

“But I’m _better_ behaved. Didn’t you hear Dad?”

“Maybe,” Hakoda pipes up, “you two should have a behaving contest.”

“No!” They say together.

“Worth a try,” Hakoda sighs, “ _Anyways,_ I pulled Zuko off of Jet and walked him down to my room to wait for his guardian. When his uncle got there, Zuko said that Jet was talking about harassing someone so he, and I quote ‘rocked his shit.’”

“Oh, so _you’re_ allowed to swear.”

“Sokka, you’re on dish duty tonight.”

“But it’s Katara’s turn!”

“Maybe if you were better behaved, like _me_ , I would still be doing the dishes.”

Hakoda groans and pulls into their driveway. Sokka races Katara to the door and only wins because he cheated and started before, she did, not that he’ll ever admit it. Bato is sitting at the kitchen table, sorting mail. Sokka and Katara don’t even notice him and scurry upstairs to their rooms.

>>>

Sokka, despite being incredibly intelligent, is forgetful. It’s his one and only flaw if he does say so himself. He’d forgotten about Jet and the new kid by Friday and it’s not until the next Wednesday that he remembers. And even then, he only remembers because the new kid is back in school. Or at least that’s what Suki tells him at lunch. He hasn’t actually seen him.

After lunch, Sokka is in lookout mode. What can he say? He’s curious. He wants to actually _look_ at the mysterious new kid that beat the shit out of the school’s infamous gangster. This task proves to be _much_ harder than he thought it would be. No one seems to know the new kid’s schedule. He pieces together a few things: first period poetry, eighth period orchestra. They seem like surprisingly mellow classes for this guy.

He ends up seeing him when he’s least expecting it: after soccer practice gets out. It’s six-thirty at night and no one except the soccer kids are at the school. At least, that’s how it’s always been before. This evening, there’s a lone silhouette sitting on one of the concrete benches near the parking lot.

Sokka doubts he would have even noticed him if he hadn’t been waiting for his Dad to pick him up. He’d gotten his license suspended a few weeks before and is now reduced to awkwardly waiting around for a parent like a freshman.

He’s not really what Sokka had been expecting, in all honesty. He’s short – like really short. His hair is probably even longer than Sokka’s and…the scar is so much worse than he’d imagined. He’d heard rumors about it, but none about what it looked like. None that talked about that fact that the kid likely couldn’t see out of his left eye. He’s wearing a bulky pair of wired headphones and there’s a book perched in his lap. He doesn’t appear to be aware that soccer practice has gotten out. Sokka stares at him until Hakoda’s minivan pulls in next to him. The boy doesn’t even look up as they pull away.

On the way home. Hakoda asks all the typical Dad questions. How was practice? Who are you playing first this season? Any good freshman? And Sokka answers honestly, even though his head is still wrapped up in his first sighting of the new kid.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me the new kid looked like that?”

Hakoda hesitates, “That’s a pretty weird and random question, Kiddo. What do you mean?”

“I mean his, um, face, I guess. Do you know what happened?”

“Oh, that. I have no idea. And I thought you knew about his scar. It’s been the subject of rumors since school started.”

“Well, I knew he _had_ it. Just not that it was that bad. I thought it was just a slash or something.”

Hakoda sighs, “It’s kind of horrific isn’t it? Try your best not to think about it.”

Sokka nods. He thinks about what could have happened to the new kid all night and pretends he’s fine in the morning.

>>>

After Azula and Zuko finish closing the shop on Thursday night, Azula makes a proposal; one that Zuko can’t say no to.

“Hey Zuzu, do you remember when we would go beachcombing? When we were little?”

Zuko looks up from his Venus flytrap, Trash Compactor, “Kinda, yeah. Why?”

“Well, we aren’t that far from a beach, and maybe for memories’ sake, we could do it again?”

“Really? You want to?”

“Kind of a lot, actually. Beachcombing was one of my favorite things to do when I was younger and I never did it again after you…It was just something we always did as siblings and it felt wrong to do it on my own. But you’re here now and I was just wondering…”

“Let me grab my coat.”

Azula beams and grabs her jacket. A few minutes later, she’s tugging Zuko down the sidewalk towards the shore. She’s talking a mile a minute about all the things they could find and Zuko can’t help but feel sad about all the time they’ve lost.

The beach is much different than the one Mother took them to in Japan. There is no soft sand. Just rounded stones as far as the eye can see. Azula picks one up immediately. There is a small hole through the center of it. She puts it in her pocket and Zuko doesn’t ask her why. Beach treasures are private.

The sun is sinking by the time they’ve finished combing the beach. Azula’s pockets are weighted with all different kinds of stones and sticks and pieces of shattered glass. Zuko has only two things in his pocket: an abandoned rubber dog toy and a slightly rough white stone. They’re probably a mile or two from where they started by now.

When they turn around, Jet is standing there, flanked by a small group of teens. His cheek is still bandaged, and his signature red pen is missing from his lips, replaced with a lit cigarette. He drops it on the ground and crushes it.

“Well, look what we have here.”

His little group shares glances and snickers. Zuko nudges Azula behind him and wishes she’d brought her taser.

“You’re in my debt, Zuko. I didn’t press any charges. I’m cashing in my favor.”

“What do you want, Jet? I already beat you once and I’ll do it again.”

“This time, I’m not alone. Though you may not have noticed. How much can you see anyway?”

Zuko’s eyes dart around the group. They all seem at ease which somehow makes the whole situation worse.

“And to answer your question: I want her.”

Azula flinches behind him and Zuko takes a step towards Jet, “You won’t fucking touch her.”

“She told me no once and look where that’s gotten us. You don’t want to cause more trouble for your brother now do you, Azula?”

Azula is breathing heavily behind him but she forces herself to look tough. She nonchalantly puts her hands in her pockets.

“Fuck off, Jet.”

He clicks his tongue, “Language, pretty little dyke.”

In a flash, Azula hurls a semi-large stone at Jet. It hits him in the face, and he stumbles back, clutching his cheek.

“Oh sweetheart, you should not have done that.”

His little posse rushes them. Zuko stands between them and Azula and sends his best kick. It connects with a stomach and sends one of Jet’s lackies to the ground. Another one of them grabs his leg and flips him.

Zuko’s back cracks as he hits the hard rocks. A rock flies over him and he hears one of the boys yelp as it makes contact. Azula’s always been a good shot. Someone jumps over him and Zuko launches upward, bringing them both to the hard rocks. Someone grabs him by the neck and lifts him up.

He tries to remember his self-defense. He has to move that hand, for Azula’s sake. The one holding him applies more pressure and Zuko thrashes. He hears the water smash against the shore and _damnit,_ the fight had moved them closer to the water. Something twists around Zuko’s legs. Jet appears in front of the guy holding Zuko. He smirks.

“You messed with the wrong bitch.”

The guy lets go of him. Zuko twists in the air and manages to catch a glimpse of the shining sea before he’s submerged in icy water. The salt burns his eyes, and he snaps them closed. He pumps his legs furiously which only seems to sink him faster. He braces himself and open his eyes.

Jet had tied rocks to his legs. They were trying to drown him. He closes his eyes and attempts swimming like a dolphin he’d once seen in a documentary. He opens his eyes again. His lungs are burning. He can’t tell which way is up. He’s about to die. He’d survived seven months in the hospital only to die because Jet wanted to rape his sister. Fuck, his lungs hurt.

The panic sets in. He’s going to die. He can’t see and no one will ever know what happened to him unless Azula escapes. He doesn’t want to die. He _really_ doesn’t want to die. Kami, please don’t let him die.

Something slams into his stomach. His eyes snap open. A huge snout is pressing into him, pushing him up. Giant golden eyes gaze into his soul. _Ryūjin._ The Dragon King nudges him, and he finds himself spinning in circles, when he spins back around, the beast is gone. His sight is dimming. Something brushes his hand. His head falls back; he’s certain it’s splitting in half and his lungs have surely exploded. He’s ready to die, Zuko thinks as the world dims around him.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings  
> \- Hospitalization  
> \- Mentions of death/dying  
> -Swearing  
> -Cops

Sokka gasps as his head breaches the water. He flounders towards the shore, dragging Zuko awkwardly. His sister is standing in the water a little way ahead, before the shoreline abruptly drops away into the fifty-foot valley that the new kid had been tossed into. Sirens are wailing somewhere; an ambulance on the way, Sokka hopes.

The kid’s sister reaches out and helps pull them onto solid ground. She’d left her jacket on the shore and hurries to wrap it around her brother. She’s shaking all over, and her makeup is smudged but she’s not crying. Somehow, Sokka knows she’s not the crying type. Katara pushes her away and begins performing CPR.

The girl wraps him in her arms. She’s tiny but strong, kind of like Gran-Gran.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

She’s bordering on hyperventilating. Sokka pats her back awkwardly. A pair of paramedics, both of whom Sokka knows from his mother’s life as a nurse, arrive at the scene. Carefully, they settle Zuko on a stretcher. Azula, Katara, and Sokka follow them up the beach to the ambulance. The paramedics hesitate for a moment but upon seeing Sokka’s shivering, shove all four of them up into the box and set the sirens ringing.

Yagoda, an old friend of Sokka’s mother, is the one attending to Zuko in the back and when she sees Sokka, her gentle demeanor switches immediately.

“What were you thinking?! Jumping in the Alaskan ocean! You’re lucky you aren’t also on a stretcher! Even still you probably have hypothermia!”

“Auntie, I’m fine. I just did what was right. Mom would’ve done it too.”

Yagoda grumbles something and checks Zuko’s vitals again. The ambulance roars into the ER and Azula and Katara are quickly escorted to the waiting area. A few cops are milling about, and one makes a grab for Azula, who flinches away. Yagoda smacks him.

“They will get to you when they get to you. Grab at one of my patients again. I _dare_ you.”

Sokka is pushed into an unoccupied room by Nini, his mom’s former best friend. She hands him a gown and once he’s out of his wet clothes, she piles a metric ton of blankets onto him. He squirms around for a moment, trying to get comfortable on the hospital bed.

“I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do right now, but the cops have to talk to you, okay? Your parents have already been called and are on their way. Please just answer them, Sokka,” Nini says. She hands him a hot chocolate and darts out the door.

Sokka is just finishing his hot chocolate when the door creeks open again. A boy in his twenties, only a few years older than Sokka, steps inside. His uniform looks too big on him.

“Sokka Chimeralrea, right?”

Sokka nods, “That’s me.”

“Can I ask you a few questions about what happened today? Your sister’s 911 call mentioned attempted murder and rape.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, Mr…”

“You can call me Hahn.”

“Okay. Ask away.”

“So, from my understanding the victims of this crime are Zuko and Azula Caldera. Is that correct?”

“I know Zuko is the one they tried to drown, but I don’t know the girl or her name. I think she’s Zuko’s younger sister and she’s in my sister’s grade but I’m not sure.”

Sokka keeps his eyes on the mountain of blankets laying on top of him as Hahn scribbles something down. God, he hates hospitals.

“Alright, what were you doing on the beach so late?” He asks.

“My sister is taking a photography class online and her teacher wanted some pictures of the sun. She decided to take some pictures of the sunset near the water and I was bored so I went with her. We came down the ramp to the beach and heard shouting farther down the beach. We were curious – or more accurately _I_ was curious, so we followed it. When they came into view, Zuko was being strangled by Pipsqueak. That’s not his actual name, but that’s all anyone calls him, so I don’t know his real one.

Anyway, Pipsqueak was shifting to the ocean and Jet tied something to Zuko’s legs. I didn’t see what it was, but I’m guessing it was some sort of weight. I know this is illegal but considering the circumstance I think it was justified- I played the tsunami warning sound on my phone. Pipsqueak threw Zuko a few feet into the water and he went under. Jet and his cronies ran past us up off the beach.

Katara was calling 911 at this point and we ran the rest of the way to where the girl was at. She was panting and she talked to Katara a little, but I didn’t really hear what was said. I didn’t know exactly where Zuko went down but I was about ready to jump in anyway. Before I could, the girl stopped me and pointed at a little red rubber bone, the kind that dogs play with.

She told me that it had just bubbled to the surface and that Zuko had had it in his pocket. I jumped in near the toy and I felt his hand against my arm. He had passed out and was starting to sink, but I managed to drag him out of the valley and into the shallows where the girl helped me get him out of the water completely.

My mom, Kya, used to be a nurse here and she taught me and Katara a few things before she passed away. Katara started doing CPR and got him breathing again, at least I think he was breathing before the paramedics got there. Anyway, the paramedics loaded us up and rushed us to the ER. Nini, one of my mom’s old nurse friends gave me some quick treatments for hypothermia in here and I don’t know where the other three are. I would guess Zuko’s in urgent care and his sister is probably with him wherever they are and since Katara was more or less fine and dry, she’s probably in the waiting room. That’s all I know.” 

Hahn nods thoughtfully as he finishes writing down Sokka’s story, “I can’t guarantee there won’t be a fine for the illegal use of a tsunami siren, but considering the circumstances, its unlikely. Now, you mentioned a ‘Jet.’ Who is that?”

“He’s a kid in my grade at school. I’m a junior by the way and I think Zuko is too. That’s not important though. Anyway, he and Zuko got in a fight at school a week or so ago and Zuko humiliated him pretty badly and sent him to the hospital. Jet didn’t press any charges, so I don’t know how much you know about it. I think this was revenge for that fight.”

“What is Jet’s full name?”

“Ah, hell. What is it? Something with an S. Sullivan! Jet Sullivan.”

“I had heard about his altercation last week. At least we have a motive. I’ll ask around about a real name for Pipsqueak. Was anyone else there?”

Sokka nods, “Yeah, there were like five other people. They’re all Jet’s friends and I don’t know them.”

Hahn sighs but smiles, “Thank you for your time, Sokka. Rest up.”

The officer stands and slips out of Sokka’s room, re-reading his notes on the conversation. Sokka slumps against the bed in relief and then immediately sits back up upon remembering he’s in a _hospital_. Gross. People probably died using these sheets and this pillow.

He’s had only a few minutes to himself when the door slams open and hits the wall with a bang. Hakoda rushes to his side, Bato and Katara right behind him. He’s been crying and his hands are shaky against Sokka’s back when he gets pulled into a hug.

“Oh, thank the spirits you’re alright.”

Hakoda puts his warm hands on Sokka’s cheeks and inspects his face for signs of cold. Sokka squirms irritably.

“Dad, I’m fine, I promise.”

Katara snorts, “Don’t be stupid. You jumped into fifty-degree water and grabbed another person. You’re lucky his body didn’t drag _you_ down too.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, “We’re both fine, aren’t we? I knew the risk when I went in and it was worth it.”

Bato claps Sokka on the shoulder, “Your dad means to say that we are both insanely proud of you and Katara. You two saved someone’s life today.”

Katara looks at the ground, blushing and shoving at the white tiled floor with the tip of her sneaker.

“Thanks, Pops,” Sokka says.

Bato rolls his eyes, “There is a million other words for ‘dad’ out there, and you just had to choose ‘Pops.’”

Sokka grins, “Would you rather I call you Paw-paw?”

“…Pops is fine.”

Hakoda laughs, “Quit harassing your father, Sokka.”

“More like Soakka,” Katara says.

“Kat, you should leave the jokes to me. I _am_ the funny sibling after-all. You’re the _behaved_ one.”

Katara glowers at him, “Don’t call me Kat! And I’m not _that_ well-behaved!”

Hakoda groans, “Are you two still on that?”

“Always,” Sokka says.

“Whatever, Master Swish.”

“When are you going to tell me what you mean by that?”

Katara sticks her tongue out, “Never, Swish Boy.”

Bato laughs and shakes his head. He and Hakoda share a glance that says something along the lines of, “Spirits, who knew raising teens would be this dumb, stressful, and silly? Do we still have fireball at home?”

A soft knock raps against the hospital door. Hakoda opens it and a short old Asian man steps inside. His grey hair is tied in a tight topknot and he’s wearing some kind of red kimono. At least, Sokka thinks it’s called a kimono. Considering his best friend is Japanese, he should know these things. He bows to the small group surrounding Sokka’s bed and smiles pleasantly when he rises again.

“I am glad I found you before you left. I am Iroh Caldera, and it is my understanding that your children saved my niece and nephew today. For that, I am very grateful.”

He bows again.

“Er, yeah,” Bato says.

“It was no problem, Mr. Caldera,” Katara says quickly.

“Well, it was a bit of a problem,” Sokka reasons.

“Sokka Chimeralrea! Be polite,” Hakoda snaps.

Iroh laughs, “Sokka is quite right. Landing in the hospital is a bit of a problem. I will be covering the cost of his hospital stay and any fees he may receive for sounding the tsunami alarm unlawfully.”

“We couldn’t ask that of you. We’re just glad all the kids are okay,” Hakoda says immediately.

The old man’s eyes twinkle a bit, “Too bad. I’ve already payed for the hospital bill. I would also like to insist that you come over for dinner sometime.”

He opens a small satchel connected to his kimono belt and removes a tiny pen and notebook. He quickly scrawls his address and returns the items to his pouch.

“If you’ve already paid for Sokka’s bill, we couldn’t possibly impose further,” Bato says, trying to hand the paper slip back.

Iroh shakes his head, “Nonsense. You wouldn’t be imposing at all. Please, pick any day that works for you. I am available every evening after seven. That is when the shop closes. I insist.”

Hakoda and Bato share a look.

“Sunday works for us.”

Iroh beams, “Wonderful. I will see you then.”

He bows once more and shuffles out the door. Sokka is only slightly disappointed that he’s lost his Sunday evening free time.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings  
> -Mentions of death/dying  
> -Mentions of child abuse  
> -Swearing

**Chapter Six**

Considering he’d nearly died two days ago, Zuko is feeling pretty good. Nearly drowning hadn’t actually had any lasting effects thanks to his timely rescue by Ryūjin and Sokka. His neck is tender, and the bruising is painful and looks gross and it hurts to swallow sometimes, but all things considered: this is an upgrade from the last time someone had tried to kill him.

Naturally, he hadn’t been at school on Friday and he hoped Sokka and Katara had been kind enough not to spread his second, and much more humiliating, fight with Jet around. Mr. Chimeralrea had promised to bring all the homework he needed tonight. It was positively mortifying that the teacher that caught him fighting was now coming to his house. And said teacher’s kids had saved his life. Fan-fucking-tastic

“Pass the sha-ke,” Azula says, bringing Zuko out of his thoughts.

Mindlessly, he passes her the bowl of salmon. His hands feel nasty. He hates making onigiri for this exact reason. He hates the way the grains of salt cling to his hands and the ridges of his palm. He picks up a bit of umeboshi, a Japanese plum, to add to his own rice ball.

After a few more minutes of gently pressing rice, plums, salmon, and seaweed into neat little triangles, Azula declares that they have more than enough for seven people. Carefully, the pair wrap the onigiri in saran wrap and a kitchen towel and put them in the fridge.

Azula groans, “Why do we have to cook all this food? Uncle’s the chef of the family!”

“These people saved my life, Zula. I think we can spend our Sunday making them a thank-you dinner,” Zuko rasps.

Azula falls silent for a moment, “I feel so _guilty_. If I hadn’t begged you to go beachcombing, none of this would have ever happened.”

Zuko pauses in his search for the udon ingredients.

“Zula, Jet was after us anyway. I’d say I’m lucky it happened near the sea. Sokka and Katara wouldn’t have saved us otherwise.”

And Zuko would never have seen Ryūjin, but that’s something he’ll keep to himself. Azula shrugs and turns back to filling a pot on the stove with water. Once the water is popping excitedly in the pot, Zuko dumps in the frozen noodles. After a few minutes, Azula strains the noodles and runs them under cold water.

Zuko stir-fries the noodles with some bamboo shoots and snap peas. Once everything is cooked, he pours it into a large bowl and sets it in the oven to conserve heat. By the time he’s done, Azula has already finished making the gomaae, green beans with a sesame dressing. Zuko loves it, though he prefers spinach.

The next dish is easy to prepare. Uncle always has everything needed for miso soup and keeps a large pitcher of at least one kind of dashi, a Japanese soup stock, in the fridge. Once the dashi is boiling, Zuko adds some tofu and scallions. After it’s cooked enough, he pulls the pot off and adds seven tablespoons of soybean paste – one for each bowl to be served.

“Four courses done, two to go,” Azula groans.

Zuko chuckles and immediately regrets it thanks to Pipsqueak.

“More than half-way done! Besides, the next one is easy anyway. What kind of rolls should we make?”

Azula rolls her eyes.

“They’re American. The basics will do.”

“That’s a little rude, isn’t it?”

“Oh please, we’re cooking them a _six-course meal_. I’m sure they aren’t going to complain that we skimped a bit on the sushi.”

“Uncle already bought otoro for them and he _will_ know if we don’t use it.”

“Fine. You have to do the fish though.”

“The rice is already ready!”

“Too bad, so sad.”

Zuko rolls his eyes and set to work torching the fatty tuna. The sushi takes less than ten minutes to finish making. Azula gets the kyoho grapes from the fridge and begins removing them from the stems. She insists that they look better and are easier to eat when they’re separate. Zuko doesn’t see why it matters. He lets her do whatever she wants. Azula chases him out of the kitchen so she can make kasutera.

“It’s _my_ recipe and you don’t get to know it! Maybe, if I die first, which I won’t, I’ll tell you on my deathbed.”

An hour later, she steps out of the kitchen, “Everything is ready. Except the tea, of course, but Uncle would strangle us before he let us make the tea for guests.”

Zuko laughs, “Does he call your tea ‘hot leaf juice’ too?”

Azula giggles, “The first time he did that, I thought he was going to kick me out! He sounded so mad!”

Zuko chuckles but can’t help but think about how sad it is that both he and Azula were worried about being hit or abandoned for the slightest mistakes when they first moved in with Uncle. Even their funny stories are rooted in how badly their father had hurt them.

At seven fifteen, Uncle comes up the stairs from the shop, Turtle following at his heels. He breaths deeply, “It smells amazing up hear. I will get the tea ready. You two set the table. Our guests will be here soon. Don’t forget the forks.”

Zuko and Azula quickly devise a plan. Zuko places a rice bowl at each seat and then Azula comes through and fills them. They do this five more times so everything but the kasutera is on the table. Uncle brings out the cups and a steaming pot of jasmine tea.

Only a few minutes after everything is settled, the doorbell that Uncle installed near the front of the store rings. Uncle gestures for Zuko and Azula to follow him and leads them downstairs. Zuko takes a deep breath, he’s about the meet the guys that saved his life, after all. Uncle unlocks the door and bows to their guests, who wait awkwardly until he straightens up.

“Please come in. I apologize that you’ll have to come through the store, but it is the only way in,” Uncle says regretfully.

“I assure you, it isn’t a problem,” the man that is not Mr. Chimeralrea says. Zuko’s heart flutters at the idea of Mr. Chimeralrea having a husband.

Sokka, as it turns out, is the boy that Zuko had regularly admired from across the cafeteria during lunch. This situation could not get worse. Zuko has to say something.

“Uh, thank you for saving my life.”

Sokka looks a bit surprised that he spoke, “Um, any time?”

Zuko huffs a bit in the imitation of laughter, “I would laugh but my throat has decided it doesn’t like that.”

“I’m sure it likes your turtleneck though. It suits you. Navy is your color,” Sokka replies.

Zuko’s pale cheeks flush and he’s relieved when Turtle rubs against his leg so he can distract Sokka. He scoops her up and kisses the top of her soft head. Sokka grins.

“She’s so cute! What’s her name?”

Mission ‘Distract Sokka From How Obvious Your Blush Is’ is a success.

“Her name is Turtle because me and Azula found her under a pot.”

“Come on kids,” Mr. Chimeralrea calls from the staircase.

Zuko bites his lip. He’d been so enamored with Sokka that everyone had slipped right past him without his knowledge. He turns and quickly follows he and Sokka’s families up the stairs into the dining room. Everyone gets seated and Iroh pours the tea.

“Itadakimasu,” Uncle says and Zuko and Azula quickly repeat it. Zuko is keenly aware of the glances their dining partners exchange. To his surprise, Sokka repeats the phrase immediately and his pronunciation isn’t nearly as bad as Zuko Is expecting.

The rest of the Chimeralrea family send him surprised looks.

“What? Suki’s family says it before every meal too. It’s like saying ‘enjoy your food.’ Right?”

Zuko is, ashamedly, jealous of this mysterious Suki. Which is dumb.

“Kind of,” Azula says, “It literally means ‘I humbly receive.’ I’m pleasantly surprised that you know it.”

“Azula,” Iroh chides, “be polite to our guests.

“He _asked_ , Uncle.”

Uncle gives her the stink eye and grabs his chopsticks. Another shock to Zuko’s system is that the entire Chimeralrea family knows how to use chopsticks. They eat in silence except for occasional praise for the food and requests for more tea. Zuko strategically allows himself two seconds to glance at Sokka when he puts more food in his mouth.

Once even the kasutera has been finished, Uncle invites everyone into the living room for a friendly game of Apples to Apples, which he’d become rather obsessed with since moving to the states. Not as obsessed as with pai sho, of course, but it is a close second.

Mr. Chimeralrea’s husband, who Zuko had learned is named Bato, is the king of the game. He seems to pick up on the patterns of what cards people choose immediately and by the time it is Iroh’s third turn to judge, he’s soundly beaten them all.

Zuko is surprisingly sad when the family leaves. Usually, he is an introvert and a dinner like this would have worn him out immediately, but he almost wishes they’d stayed longer. He mentions this to Azula while they’re doing the dishes and she laughs.

“Of course, you want them to stay! You have a big fat crush on Sokka.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“To me, but I’m your sister so obviously I’m going to recognize your body language. I don’t think he noticed.”

“I hope not. It doesn’t really matter, though. We probably won’t talk to each other much again.”

Azula just shakes her head and flings a handful of bubbles into Zuko’s hair.

>>>

Sokka had once read that humans formed deeper bonds when they met in stressful situations. Now, he is positive that it’s true. He wants to have eyes on Zuko at all times, like if he isn’t looking at the kid, he’s going to be drowning again. It’s an almost annoying tendency. Almost.

By the time lunch rolls around, the entire school is well aware of what happened. Well, they have some semblance of the knowledge that is thoroughly diluted by rumor but that is good enough for Sokka. While he and Suki are filling up their trays, people give them a wide berth.

Once he’s paid, Sokka’s eyes find Zuko immediately. He’s sitting alone – well as alone as one can sit in a crowded cafeteria, and Sokka beelines for him. Suki trails behind him, not really confused as to where they were going.

Sokka slips onto the bench across from Zuko, “These seats taken?”

Zuko’s honey-glazed eyes betray his confusion, “No?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“If you’re waiting on someone, we can sit elsewhere,” Suki offers.

Zuko shakes his head, “No, no. Azula usually sits by me though, just so you’re prepared.”

“That’s fine,” Sokka says quickly.

Suki prods at her hamburger with a plastic fork, “I am _so_ not eating that.”

“I’ll eat yours!” Sokka offers immediately.

Suki shakes her head but lets him grab her burger.

“It’s literally just fake meat and preservatives, Sokka.”

“At least it’s food! And if you cover it with enough ketchup, you don’t even notice how bad it tastes.”

Zuko sticks his tongue out.

“I’m going to have to agree with Suki. Those are nasty.”

“Want me to eat yours?” Sokka asks through a bite of stale bread and fake meat.

Zuko raises one eyebrow.

“I think you have enough. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“You haven’t known Sokka long enough. His stomach is indestructible.”

Zuko remembers the obscene amount of rice Sokka had eaten the night before, “Y’know, you might be right.”

Sokka swallows, “Suki’s always right.”

She laughs, “Damn right I am.”

The warning bell rings and Sokka pretends not to be concerned when Zuko dumps his entire tray without eating a thing.

After some intense asking around, Sokka figures out Zuko’s locker number. It’s not _weird_ or anything. He just wants to be able to stop there before class and talk to Zuko once and awhile. Normal friend stuff. At least, that was the plan before Coach turns out to be sick, and instead of going to soccer practice like usual, Sokka finds himself leaning against the wall beside Zuko’s locker after school.

Zuko’s good eye widens when he sees Sokka, “Uh, hi?”

Sokka laughs, “You always sound so unsure when you say something.”

“Sorry?”

Sokka shakes his head, “You did it again. And don’t apologize. It doesn’t bug me or anything; just an observation.”

Zuko nods slowly and opens his locker, “Don’t you have soccer practice?”

Sokka raises one eyebrow, “How’d you know I play soccer?”

Zuko rolls his eyes, “I know you’ve seen me sitting in the parking lot after your practices.”

“Only once, but you had these huge headphones on, and you didn’t seem to notice me.”

Zuko shrugs, “I probably didn’t notice you that time.”

“You’ve been there more than once?”

Zuko zips up his bag and slips it over his shoulders.

“Yeah. I like the school’s atmosphere in the evenings. It’s easier for me to focus on homework or books or whatever when I’m not at home. I love Uncle and Azula and Turtle, but they can be a lot sometimes, so I come sit at the school. “

“I don’t think most students would come back to school after hours.”

Zuko shrugs.

“School is different in Japan. More competitive. Lots of students stay late to do work and whatnot. It’s a hard habit to break.”

Sokka snorts.

“Must suck to go to school in Japan.”

“Yes and no. I mean, I’m very well educated, but the rules are kind of insane. We had uniforms and set hairstyles back in Japan. It is sort of weird to be able to wear whatever I wanted to school. Especially my hair. I love how long it can be here.”

“Huh. So, I was wondering, and its totally okay if you say no, I mean we don’t know each other all that well, but: Could I come to your house for a bit? Usually there’s practice until six-thirty but my coach is sick, and Pops and Dad are out of town until then for their anniversary. Since I usually have practice, they didn’t make any arrangements for me to get home until they do.”

“I have to work for a while after school, but you and Katara are definitely free to come over.”

“Oh no, Katara’s at her boyfriend, Aang’s house.”

“Oh, okay. Well, Uncle will be here to get me and Azula soon, so if you’re coming, you’d better follow me.”

“Awesome. Thanks so much, man.”

It turns out, Iroh drives a bright yellow car. Azula calls shotgun which is fine with Sokka because he gets the backseat with Zuko. Iroh is positively delighted with Sokka’s presence and insists that Zuko takes the day off work to spend time with his friend. By the time Zuko agrees to take the time off, they’re pulling into the small driveway behind the shop.

Sokka has never been in The Jasmine Dragon when its open. He’d only seen the interior for a few moments in dim light while he’d talked to Zuko the night before. The contrast is truly startling. The mismatched tables are mostly full, and the warm herbal scent of tea fills the air along with the soft chatter of the crowd.

A large group of college students has pushed two of the tables together and are chatting loudly while flipping through books and tapping furiously on their keyboards. A trio of elderly men are laughing over a large pai sho board and betting small amounts of money on which of the three will win. A young mother with a pregnant belly and a toddler is sitting near a window. The child is scribbling away at a coloring book while the mother talks quietly on the phone and rubs her belly. A middle-aged man hurries about with a teapot, refilling cups left and right. Sokka loves it. The energy feels kind of like Gran Gran’s house.

Iroh and Azula slip on green and white aprons and get to work. Azula gives Zuko a nasty, “you owe me” glare. Zuko nudges Sokka upstairs. To Sokka’s surprise, Zuko sits down next to the door before reaching above his head and opening it. A hazel blur attempts to dart out the door and Zuko catches her firmly in his lap. He stands up and flips Turtle on her back so he’s holding her like a baby. She trills like a bird and Sokka takes a step back.

“Did you forget to tell me your cat is half-chickadee?”

Zuko chuckles.

“She’s an Abyssinian. That’s just what they sound like. Come on in.”

Once the door is closed, Zuko hands Sokka the cat, “I, um, have to do something.”

Sokka nods and takes Turtle. She trills at him and he strokes her soft ears. Curiously, Sokka watches as Zuko approaches the far side of their living room. He bows before a large shelf high on the wall. His body is bent at a full ninety-degree angle. He holds the pose for a long moment before rising and repeating the action. Sokka is suddenly very aware of what Zuko is doing and feel like an intruder. The most logical option is to bury his head in Turtle’s fur.

A minute or too later, (or maybe it’s only been thirty seconds; Sokka is awful at time-estimation) Zuko’s cute laughter draws Sokka out of his furry blindfold. Zuko is standing in front of him, giggling and covering his mouth. Sokka has the stupid thought that he wishes Zuko would move his hand so he could look at his lips.

“I appreciate the idea, but you don’t have to look away. If I wanted to pray in private, I would have sent you too my room.”

The idea of being in Zuko’s room without Zuko makes Sokka blush. He’s grateful for his dark skin. Unlike Zuko, he doesn’t turn bright red at the slightest embarrassment.

“Do you have homework or anything you need to do?” He asks.

Zuko shakes his head, “No. Nothing. Do you want to play MarioKart or something? I have Smash too.”

Sokka grins, “I have been known to kick ass at Smash.”

Zuko smiles and tucks a rouge lock of hair behind his burnt ear, “We’ll see about that.”

He turns and opens a wooden door leading to a hallway of bedrooms. His bedroom is the very last one in the hall and it’s very plain. His bed is pushed into the corner of the wall and a small television and his Switch adaptor sits on a nightstand across the room, but there is nothing else. It’s sort of strange, really. It feels unlived in.

Zuko sits down on his bed and pulls out a pair of controllers for them and fires up the television. Sokka hesitantly sits down beside him. Zuko wipes the floor with him in their first match.

“How’d you do that? No one can beat me at Smash!”

Zuko gives him a tight-lipped smile, “You have the same fighting style as my sister.”

“Spirits that’s lame.”

Zuko shrugs, “Yeah, it is. You two should fight sometime. It would be wildly funny to watch.”

Sokka flops onto his back, “You’re such a meanie.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Sokka sits back up, “Bro, I was just teasing.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I don’t really pick up on that stuff very well.”

“Noted.”

“What do you mean ‘noted?’”

“I mean, I’ll keep that in mind, so I don’t confuse you or something.”

“Oh, um, thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

Sokka decidedly ignores the warm fuzzy feeling Zuko’s appreciation leaves in the pit of his stomach.

“No problem.”

A few hours later, Iroh texts Zuko to say that Sokka’s dads have come to get him. Zuko almost pretends he didn’t see the text so he could have a few more moments with Sokka, which is dumb. He shows Sokka the text and Sokka’s easy grin falters a bit, which makes Zuko’s heart thud a little bit faster.

Bato is chatting amicably with Iroh at the counter when the boys come down into the shop. Mr. Chimeralrea seems a bit less at ease with his surroundings and Zuko is keenly aware of his fight a few weeks prior.

After wishing Sokka goodbye, Zuko rushes into the kitchen to help with the cleaning. Azula gives him a confused glance. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that doing dishes is Zuko’s least favorite chore. Right now, though, he needs a distraction from how empty he feels without Sokka’s easy crooked-toothed smile.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger Warnings  
> -Swearing  
> -Implied sexual content  
> -Mentions of child abuse

On the way home from The Jasmine Dragon, Hakoda can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

“Sokka, you know I love that you make friends so easily, but this one…”

Bato gives him the stink-eye from his passenger seat.

“I just think that you should be careful is all. He seems like trouble. He hasn’t even been here a year and he’s already gotten into a fight on school grounds _and_ off school grounds.”

“Oh, come on, Dad. Jet deserved it! He was harassing Zuko’s little sister! And the second fight was _so_ not his fault. He got ambushed.”

“I know, I know. I just want you to think critically of your friends and be cautious.” 

“Hakoda, you have no room to talk on this issue.”

Sokka can feel the air shift in the car. Bato _never_ calls Dad “Hakoda.” For as long as Sokka can remember, Bato has only said it a handful of times.

“Do you remember how you, Kya, and I met?”

Hakoda is silent at the wheel. His hands are shifting nervously. Bato unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to look at Sokka.

“I met your parents at a party in the woods.”

“Bato. He does not need to hear this story.”

“ _You_ need to stop being a hypocrite because you were one of the most irritable, angry, and violent teenagers I have ever met.”

Hakoda sighs and tries to focus on the road. Bato smiles at Sokka and roles his eyes.

“As you know, we grew up in Nome, and there is absolutely _nothing_ to do in that town. So, we did stupid teenage things. Parties in the woods with liquor provided by one of the white kids with alcoholic parents. Camping overnight in the woods. Trying to spot bears in the woods. We did pretty much everything in the woods, quite often without anyone’s knowledge.

I met Kya and Hakoda at one such event. It was just your average campfire party. It was kind of a miracle we hadn’t met before then. I suppose I knew _of_ them prior to this evening because everyone knew everyone in that town. So, I saw Kya first and, spirits, your mom was _stunning_ , Sokka.

Anyway, I saw Kya first, and she was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. Naturally, I was an over-confident freshman and I started flirting with her. She flirted right back. Your mother always had impeccable taste in men, you know.

Hakoda sees me chatting up his girlfriend and he stalks over, all angry – and your father is _hot_ when he’s mad-“

“Pops, _please_ stop telling me how hot my parents were. I’m begging.”

“Fine, fine. Well, your dad is furious with me. He’s bigger, stronger, and a grade above me. He puts down his whiskey, stalks over to us, and punches me straight in the jaw. I fall down and then he’s on top of me, and we’re wrestling around and Hakoda rolls us too close to the campfire and his pant leg _caught on fire_.

Once Kya and I put him out, she invited me back to her place with Hakoda and we had a threesome. Been inseparable ever since. Or, we were, anyway.”

The depressing weight of his mother’s death envelops the car for a moment, but Bato keeps right on talking.

“So don’t let your dad take the moral high ground on this one. He was just as temperamental as Zuko back in the day.”

“Wait, wait, wait – that’s how you guys met. That means that all happened like, twenty years ago _today_.”

“Twenty-one years ago, yesterday. We didn’t become a polycule until the morning after,” Hakoda pipes up.

“Well, that’s one way to meet your spouses,” Sokka says.

“Bato’s right, I of all people should know better to judge teens on their anger. Forget I said anything, okay? And _please_ forget everything Bato said too.”

Sokka laughs, “I’ll forget nothing.”

“I was afraid of that.”

>>>

After that, Sokka and Zuko fall into something of a routine. Sokka meets Zuko at his locker every morning and they chat for a few minutes before heading to class. Sokka and Suki sit with him and Azula at lunch, and Sokka takes a minute to say goodbye before rushing to soccer practice after school.

Once soccer is over in the middle of October, their routine changes a bit. Sokka’s driving license is still suspended and Hakoda usually stays after school until four-thirty and then does various errands or meetings with parents or whatever it is he and Bato do. This leaves Sokka with two options after school: Walk home or hang out at the tea shop until Hakoda comes to pick him up. More often than not, he opts for the latter.

Today, October 19th, is no exception. Sokka is sitting at his usual two-person table near the window doing science homework. It’s his least favorite class and his eyes keep getting drawn to the various plants along the window. One his twentieth to thirtieth glance, he spots the snow. The chances of him actually finishing his homework falls to zero.

The sound of the chair across form him sliding against the floor draws his attention away from the softly falling flakes. Zuko pushes a cup of tea on a small platter towards him.

“I didn’t pay for this.”

“Good thing you’re friends with the owner’s nephew.”

“Is that all it takes to get a boy free drinks?”

“Here it is.”

“Must be giving out a lot of freebies then.”

Zuko laughs and shakes his head, “I know your whole thing is being “the funny one,” but the personal attacks are a bit rude, don’t you think?”

Sokka takes a sip of his tea. As expected, it’s lavender. Lavender tea definitely isn’t Sokka’s favorite. He prefers something with caffeine, like matcha. Zuko knows this. Zuko has never once given him free matcha. Something about caffeine being bad for him or whatever.

“It may be rude, but it’s funny.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

Zuko’s good eye widens considerably when he catches sight of the snow. His bad eye stretches at the scar tissue but doesn’t actually manage to do much. It’s sort of a comical sight.

“It’s snowing…”

Sokka smiles a little. Zuko sounds like a stunned child.

“Has been for a while, actually. You’ve just been so busy you haven’t noticed.”

“You should’ve been too busy to notice as well,” he says, gesturing to Sokka’s open textbook. Sokka scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

“It snows a lot in Japan, just not in Tokyo. My mother skied. She took me and Azula with her once. I guess I never really thought I would see a lot of snow again. Even though we’re literally in Alaska. I mean, I guess logically I knew there would eventually be way more snow here than there ever was in Tokyo. It just never sank it, y’know?”

Sokka laughs, “You’re cute when you babble.”

Zuko flushes and tries to disappear into his turtleneck. It’s adorable.

“Quit trying to make me blush!”

“How do you know I’m not just telling the truth?”

Zuko snorts and shakes his head, “You’re silly Sokka. Huh. Alliteration.”

Sokka’s heart falls a little. Zuko either knows he’s been flirting for the past few weeks and is ignoring him or is insanely dense. Either way, it’s killing Sokka not to know how Zuko feels about him. He probably just feels like friends which sucks.

“It looks like a lot. Will schools close tomorrow?!”

Sokka laughs harder than necessary to help prove his point, “Zuko, this is Alaska. It snows like eight months of the year. We’d never have school if they closed for a little snow.” 

“Do you have heated roads like they do back in Tokyo?”

“Nope. People here just know how to drive on three feet of snow and ice.”

“That sounds…terrifying.”

“I was teasing. There’s just a bunch of plows that come out sometime during the early morning and clear away the snow before schools and businesses and stuff open up.”

“Oh. The first way sounds cooler.”

“Most things that aren’t real sound cooler than reality. It’s like, science or something.” 

“Not that you would know considering you aren’t doing your homework.”

“To be fair, I’m not at home so I can’t do homework.”

Zuko stands up and collects their cups.

“Sorry, my break is up.”

“You’re good. I’ll just sit here and pretend to do my homework.”

“Or, you could actually do said homework and pass chemistry. Just a thought.”

Sokka flips him off as he walks back into the kitchen and pretends that he isn’t imagining an older Zuko making tea in their kitchen.

Zuko’s short shift ends half an hour later and Sokka all but forces him out into the snow behind the shop. Mostly, Sokka just wants to admire the way snowflakes contrast with Zuko’s pretty hair when they land on it. He hurls a snowball at Zuko’s back. Zuko twirls around and stares at Sokka. For a moment, they just look at one another.

Sokka knows the exact moment that he’s fucked. Zuko’s pretty eyes go from sunshine bright to deep amber and a second later, Sokka feels Zuko’s soft hands pushing against his chest. He stumbles back and trips. With a soft thump, his back connects with a soft pile of snow. Zuko grins down at him and drops his own snowball onto Sokka’s stomach.

Zuko bursts out laughing at Sokka’s shocked expression. His breath crystalizes in the air and Sokka has the vague idea that he’s breathing white fire. He could listen to Zuko’s laugh for eternity. Spirits, he’s whipped.

Zuko’s eyes are scrunched closed while he laughs so he doesn’t realize that Sokka has stood up until it’s too late. Sokka grabs his hand and yanks him down into the snowbank. They wrestle for a few moments, trying to get each other covered in snow. It ends when Zuko’s hair tie snaps and Sokka finds himself staring into Zuko’s face, long dark hair brushing against his cheeks. Neither of them moves. Sokka clears his throat.

“What, uh, what conditioner are you using? Your hair is really, really soft.”

It smells good too, but Sokka keeps that to himself. Honestly, it feels like a hate crime that Zuko has never taken his hair out of its bun around him. That hair is simply too gorgeous to be contained.

“The name is Japanese. You wouldn’t understand it.”

“Tell me anyways.”

“私は、あなたのことが好きです、あなたに恋をしています.”

“That’s a long name for a conditioner.”

“It, um…only sounds long. In reality, it’s like, two characters.”

The wind brushes Zuko’s hair against Sokka’s lips. He swallows. Having some part of Zuko against his mouth is intense and he wants actual skin. He want’s Zuko’s lips, if Zuko will let him have them.

“Hey Zuko?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“Did I imply that you were earlier? With the science homework? If I did, I’m sorry! I was just teasing. Well, mostly. You should do your homework, you know.”

Sokka laughs and because of how close they are, his laughter shakes Zuko too, like a mini earthquake. Zuko doesn’t really want it to stop, but of course it does. He hopes he hasn’t insulted Sokka too badly.

“I’m not talking about the science homework. What did you really say to me?”

“I, uhm, I called you a tricky little bastard?”

“You don’t sound very sure about that.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Sokka’s eyes widen and he leans his head back against the snow, heart hammering.

“It sounded better in Japanese. Could you repeat it?”

“I know you probably don’t feel the same, and that’s fine. I’m really sorry and if you don’t want to be friends now, I totally understand and- “

“Zuko, _please_ say what you said in Japanese again.”

Zuko hesitates and his pretty lips tremble a little.

“…私は、あなたのことが好きです、あなたに恋をしています.”

“Zuko?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you a kiss? And, not tonight obviously because my dads will be here soon, can I take you on a date? I know a really cute little café and I can finally repay you for all those free teas.”

Zuko leans in and gives his lips a peck. He pulls away immediately, chewing on his bottom lip. Sokka decides that this is entirely unfair, but he also doesn’t want to push.

“If you don’t want too, that’s fine.”

“No, I do want to. I really, _really_ want to. It’s just, I’ve never really kissed anyone before.”

Sokka laughs, “Luckily for you, I’m a master at kissing. I will impart upon you all my wisdom. All you have to do, is bring those pretty lips back to mine.”

Zuko blushes furiously but leans back down. Sokka is relieved to get a proper kiss. Zuko needs practice, but Sokka is more than happy to give him some hands-on experience.

>>>

Zuko’s final poetry class comes two days before Tohji-Taisai and five days before Christmas. It’s the semester test period and the only task is to write twelve poems. One for every month of the year.

**_January_ **

_i went to Master Piando’s sword classes_

_like i did everyday_

_i did my katas_

_i jumped and kicked and swung_

_my sister is better than me; even at the thing i love most_

_even though it’s her first-time doing sword work in six months_

_and that is okay_

_because she is safe now_

_and i love her more than i love my own success_

>>>

**_February_ **

_Uncle is angry_

_the courts do not see our pain_

_we could lose it all_

>>>

**_March_ **

_mother’s birthday in on the 15 th _

_it is the worst day of the year_

_it is the day she ran away_

_and left us to face our father alone_

_she never laid a hand on us_

_but she never put her hand on his wrist_

_or her body between his and ours_

_i do not miss her anymore_

_i miss the idea of her_

>>>

**_April_ **

_Uncle takes Azula and I to the park_

_you will not understand its name if i write it_

_but it was the park where Azula broke my wrist when i was nine_

_she did not mean to do it_

_but father rewarded her for it_

_and three weeks later she broke my nose_

_and got a new toy_

_now, she sits beside me on the grass_

_and we pretend_

_that those were the good old days_

>>>

**_May_ **

_Mai_

_Azula and Mai_

_Azula and Ty Lee and Mai_

_three heads of the same snake_

_all born in the same month_

_because they will always be together_

_in some ways_

>>>

**_June_ **

_we are leaving_

_Uncle says it like it means nothing_

_father is going to jail_

_forever_

_he will never see us again_

_even if we stayed there_

_but we are leaving_

_and somehow i know_

_i will never see tokyo again_

_in this life_

>>>

**_July_ **

_we will make our home a tea shop_

_and fill it with the sounds, smells, and auras of Japan_

_because even though we left_

_Japanese, we will always be_

>>>

**_August_ **

_public school is a dragon i have never faced_

_i am afraid_

_Azula pretends she is not_

_but she is shaking_

_when we meet Bumi_

>>>

**_September_ **

_Uncle is not mad_

_even though, i attacked Jet in first period_

_Uncle is disappointed_

_and that is worse_

_but nothing is worse than seeing Azula cry_

_like she did when i woke up in the hospital_

_now having faced death by both_

_fire_

_and_

_sea_

>>>

**_October_ **

_Sokka saved me from drowning_

_and now that soccer is over_

_he sits in the corner of the shop_

_and pretends to do homework_

_but really, he’s watching me_

_or looking at my plants_

_and really, those two things are the same_

_and it is okay_

_because i like his eyes_

_i like him looking at me_

_and i like how they look_

_when i risk staring straight in them_

_Sokka likes my hair_

_he tells me so_

_when he kisses me for the first time_

_while we lay in the snow_

_it is not the last kiss_

_there are many more between then and now_

_there will be many more_

_if I have any say_

_in the matter_

>>>

**_November_ **

_i was born while my father was away_

_the first thing he said when he saw me_

_eight days later was_

_“this disappointment_

_is lucky to be born”_

_he never stopped saying it_

_i never stopped believing it_

_until this year_

_when Sokka sneaks into the shop_

_at 11:55_

_so he can wake me up the second i turn seventeen_

_and give me kisses_

_and too many presents_

_so he can sleep pressed against my back_

_and make uncle think that the candy wrappers in the trash_

_are something else entirely_

>>>

**_December_ **

_it has been five months since i got on a plane_

_and had to start walking for an hour to buy red bean paste_

_it has not been enough time for a baby to be born_

_but i feel so new_

Zuko is the first person to hand in his assignment. His poems do not get him a 100% but Sokka cries and kisses him senseless when he reads them, and that’s better than any grade Zuko has ever gotten.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Just a reminder: I do love constructive criticism! I hope you all have a great day!


End file.
